Lilium Candidum
by SergeantPixie
Summary: Elena moves to the city. Prequel to Papaver Somniferum.


**AN: Before anyone gets up in arm's this was actually written in May. It's an extremely overdue birthday present for my best friend. I just made the mistake of writing it during finals week and amidst a truly disturbing amount of all-nighters, so I completely forgot about it. In fact, I still don't remember writing it. I just randomly came across it a few weeks ago. I've been waiting until her finals are over to post it, so here it is.**

**This is a prequel to_ Papaver Somniferum_, but honestly this probably won't make sense if you don't read that one first so, anyone who hasn't read that one definitely should do that first. I've always intended to expand this verse, I just got a bit side-tracked, thankfully said best friend's love of this verse was all the encouragement I needed to finally get it out there.**

**Warning for extended and often blatant suicidal ideation.**

**The title is the scientific name for the Madonna Lily which symbolizes purity and death. Happy Extremely-Super-Ridiculously Belated Birthday, Lex, I love you! Enjoy!**

**Lilium Candidum**

"_It's oh so sad_

_To watch her fall_

_And lilies grow on…"_

_-Peder ft. Anne Trolle_

"_White Lilies"_

"I think it would be better if you went back to Colorado."

Jeremy stares at his sister. They're seated across from each at the dining room table, doing homework late one night only a month before Elena's high school graduation.

She doesn't raise her head from her essay on the Dutch Resistance, so he finds himself addressing the crown of her dark head.

"Now?" he asks, his heart pounding.

She shakes her head, looking at him at last. Her expression is so carefully controlled, like it has been since that awful night of her resurrection.

"No, not until after graduation."

She sounds careless, like shipping off her little brother – her only living family – is as easy as sending a package.

He swallows.

"Where are you going to go?" He's not stupid, she wouldn't send him away if she was going to stay. So he hopes she has a plan. A plan means she isn't too far gone, that despite everything, she hasn't given up on life, yet.

She shrugs.

"I don't know." She pauses, then swallows thickly, and when she speaks again her voice is full of more emotion than she's shown in months. "I just can't be here anymore."

He chews on his lower lip. It's not like he doesn't understand, but he needs something more concrete than that.

"Pick a city, or a state, just don't disappear."

She looks at him sharply. "I'd never do that," she says, "not to you."

It sounds enough like a promise to make him relax, if only a little.

"I'll go to Colorado if you figure out a plan."

She smiles at him, and for a moment she almost looks like his sister.

"Deal."

* * *

It's Elijah, who gives her the idea. It's been months since the Originals abandoned Mystic Falls in favor of New Orleans, but there always seems to be one of them lurking about, bothering her. Elijah alone has kept his distance. It's a relief, and once again puts him higher in her estimation than any of his siblings.

A week before graduation he pays her a visit, knocking on the door like a proper gentleman instead of letting himself in like so many of the vampires populating her life.

"May I come in?" he asks.

They both understand the courtesy of the gesture, he already has the only invitation that matters to a vampire, but his own personal code demands he ask.

She lets him in more out of curiosity than anything else.

He waits until they're seated across from each other at the dining room table before speaking.

"I am sure you're wondering why I stayed away for so long…" he trails off on his own, so she doesn't feel bad for cutting him off.

"I didn't want to see anyone, you know that." Her smile is brittle. "You're the only one who cared." Her voice echoes through the empty house.

There is a crack in his façade, he looks unsure. Finally, he nods.

"It seemed an imposition, after all you have been through."

"Thank you," she says.

He looks at her in a searching way she is used to by now. No one knows what to do with a girl who wishes that she was still dead.

"I haven't heard anything of your plans for college?"

"I'm not going to college." She is decisive.

He sighs heavily, but doesn't try to argue.

"What is it that you want, Elena?" he asks, his voice gentle.

She stares through him.

"I don't know what you mean."

He nods, willing to elaborate.

"What do you want out of life? I know you've been through more than most of your peers, what can I do to make this easier for you?" He tilts his head. "What can Niklaus do? Lord knows he owes you more than could ever be given."

Elena doesn't know how to answer this question. She can't even begin to explain what she wants, she has no idea. There is only one answer she can give him.

"Nothing, I don't want anything from any of you."

He looks like he's about to protest, so she amends her statement.

"I want to leave, I don't want to be here anymore. When I do leave, I want to know that he won't interfere. I don't care if he knows where I am, but I get to pick where I go. I get to live my life the way I want." She sucks in a breath, almost exhausted by her short speech. She gives so little of herself away, now.

He nods slowly.

"I don't think that is unreasonable."

It goes unsaid that Klaus might disagree. They both understand that it will be Elijah's job to deal with him, as it has always been.

He rises to leave and she gets up to follow him, an automatic act of courtesy. He only turns back to her when they are right in front of the door.

Looking down at her, he maintains eye contact as he speaks in order to convey the importance of his statement.

"Wherever you go, make sure you pick the kind of place that fully engages you. There is no need for you to be bored."

With that, he is gone, and Elena knows where she will go.

* * *

She doesn't know if she's being cruel on purpose, being so kind right before she disappears. Maybe it's because she's happy to leave, maybe it's because she has no intention of ever seeing these people again.

She knows this; her smile is real when she catches sight of Matt and Tyler in their grad regalia. She feels overflowing with kindness when she squeezes Caroline's hand. Looking Bonnie in the eye is easier than she thought, Stefan's returning smile to her nod does not make her hate him.

Jeremy's response to her is probably the most natural, spinning her around in his embrace. She wonders, if Damon understand her wink. It's not forgiveness, he's not in on the joke. The joke is simple. Today she is here, tomorrow she'll be gone.

Maybe all of this is very simple, every gesture, no matter how small, sows the seeds of hope. Hope that a day will come when she forgives them, loves them again. Elena knows all about false hope, knows how to sow the seeds with gentle hands and hidden salt.

* * *

She remembers asking Bonnie about college at the grill. Her own vague responses about her plans now that they're graduated. She remembers better, the bathroom, Caroline leaning into her without even meaning to, eyes on her lips.

It's not like Elena doesn't know. She's always known. It's her kindest act, pretending not to know.

Elena borrows her lip gloss, feels the way her eyes watch her. She remembers smiling as she tucks the tiny bottle back into Caroline's purse. Leaning forward to brush her glossy lips to Caroline's.

Her smile is devastatingly casual, like she doesn't know Caroline stopped breathing.

"You needed a fresh coat." Flirting is only a few careful steps from hurting; Elena is good at both.

* * *

She drops Jeremy at the airport, closes up the house, sends a letter, and then vanishes. She doesn't look back.

* * *

New York City is a good place to disappear. The sheer number of people there, living, visiting, everything in between, it's all a good cover. A better cover; the sheer number of people just like her, looking to disappear. Looking to shed their skin, become someone new and leave the past behind them. She's not quite sure she's cut out for the kind of hope it seems to take, to move to this city with nothing.

Elena knows, in her bones, in her cells, in the individual strands of her DNA, that you cannot leave the past behind you. You never leave your past self behind, they haunt you, when it comes down to it. Elena, one girl in an endless city, trying to figure out how to give up wanting to die, trying to find a reason to be alive, she doesn't leave behind gloomy graveyard girl.

The girl she misses most is further still, Elena before the accident, before her parents' death: sixteen, gorgeous and reckless, in love with everything life has to offer her. Elena, nineteen, has no idea how to get back to that girl, isn't sure she can. She takes a page out of her book though, everything is better when you're dancing.

* * *

First, she goes through the right motions. Finds an apartment, SoHo, probably a little more than she can afford, but something about it feels right, and she's chasing that feeling. Her savings is still impressive, between her college fund and the money from the insurance company.

Her dad was a doctor after all, like he didn't have a serious life insurance policy for both himself and her mom.

It takes her a little longer to find a job, mostly because she needs something that suits her current state of being. Dancing all night, exploring all day. The owner of her favorite bar, Clark, a kind older gentleman, invites her behind the bar one night and starts taking her through the basics.

One look at her pretty Petrova face behind the bar and the patrons of Clark's Bar lose their collective minds. She's not Katherine, she doesn't need to be the center of attention, but the fact is, she always has been. Even here, trying so hard to disappear into the crowd, she is still at her best, center stage at the bar. She barely has to flirt for her tips. A flip of her hair, a teasing smile, and they tip obscenely.

She works midnights to closing six nights a week. She sleeps through those dawn hours, waking obscenely early to explore the city. When night comes, she hits the dance floor.

She doesn't really care about drinking or making friends, she just wants to dance. The club doesn't matter, as long as the music is loud. She lets the music overtake her, until she no longer thinks, only moves. She perfects the dance-away, uninterested in dancing partners, only the never-ending movement that empties her mind. She doesn't care the way she looks to any of her admirers. An endless blur of motion, hypnotic and seductive and completely autonomous.

She dances alone, losing herself in the music until it's time to slide behind the bar at Clark's.

She pours drinks and puts no effort into her flirting, raking in tips until last call. She barely sleeps and then it all starts again.

She goes on bus tours. Sits at the top of the bus, tucked away in a corner with her headphones on. She ignores the guide droning on as she watches the city pass her by. She picks random stops to get off at, wandering the city until it begins to feel like home.

She goes to the museums, art galleries, stares at the masterpieces that tell her nothing. She keeps the headphones in, a never-ending flow of indie angst providing a soundtrack to her wandering. It keeps people away, and that's all she really wants.

She explores the city, soaking up the culture and art that saturates the city, and all the while she feels his eyes on her.

It's not like she didn't invited it. She did her duty, sent the letter when she left, a postcard with her address when she moved in to her apartment.

Elena keeps her promises, her blood is his, and she never runs, not like Katherine.

Her days pass in the same manners, until summer becomes fall. It never crosses her mind to try her hand at college after all. She feels far too old for any classroom or the droning professors. She wanders the city all day, dances half the night, serves drinks until it's time for a few, brief hours of nightmare-filled sleep. Then she starts again.

She only talks to Jeremy, safe in Colorado. She has a brand new phone and a contact list that she can count on one hand. She has no interest in staying in contact with any of the people she used to be so sure made up the whole world, the whole of her heart. It feels hollow now. She deactivates all of her social media. She doesn't care if they're worried, she's done. She's gone.

She lives her life in the same pattern, days passing her by. Just when she is used to it, numb, almost, to her own pain and grief, she receives her first visitor.

* * *

It's a Tuesday, when Katherine comes into the bar.

It's only later, after, that Elena reflects on how flawless Katherine had planned her visit. Coming on a day when the bar is particularly slow.

It's a little after one in the morning, and Elena is looking at a map of the city, considering where she's going to go next, she's running out of boroughs.

"Can I get a glass of pinot noir?"

Elena recognizes her voice instantly, there is no disconnect, she needs no time to get used to her presence. Part of her has been aware of her for a week at least. She reaches down for a wine glass, picks a bottle from the top shelf, pours her a glass, and walks down the bar to put it in front of her.

"Hello Katherine," Elena says calmly.

Katherine smirks.

"Excellent service." She pouts. "You wouldn't care to make it bloody, would you?"

Elena knows she's teasing, but some dark part of her wants to reach beneath the bar for a paring knife and slit open her wrist just to prove a point.

Katherine sees it in her face, they've never needed words to know each other. Katherine grins, pleased at the darkness in her counterpart.

"What do you want, Katherine?" Elena doesn't mean to sound tired, never mind that it's the truth.

They're drawing attention from the few patrons and Elena's co-workers, these two identical girls. Elena never talks about her life, makes no effort to get close to anyone, so it's not like they'd know her family. They're clearly assuming Elena and Katherine are twins; they have no idea how far off they are.

Katherine takes her time answering. Instead she chooses to try her drink, closing her eyes and humming in approval at the taste.

"Excellent choice," she says. She opens her eyes, smiling at Elena like she's something beloved to her.

Elena looks back, her face devoid of emotion. She's too tired for Katherine's games.

Katherine sighs, exasperated.

"I'm here to check up on you." Cocks her head to side, adds, "I missed my little sister." She smirks.

Elena laughs then, doesn't dare think about all the hateful siblings she's known.

"So that's why you've been following me?"

Katherine smirks, unabashed.

"Well, you never call, you never write, I can't stalk your Instagram anymore, so I had to resort to a little old-fashioned in-person stalking."

Elena rolls her eyes.

"I'm fine, now leave."

Katherine laughs in her face.

"You're miserable." She gives her a mock-sympathetic look.

"You don't talk to anyone, you just go through the motions. You're not living here, you're haunting the city."

Elena stares at her, hollow-eyed, unmoved. She knows she's proving her right, she just doesn't have the energy to care, to put on a show.

Katherine shakes her head.

"You're in the greatest city on Earth, start acting like it."

Elena continues to stare at her.

"That just sounds like American propaganda. What about Rome? Paris? London? You're the one who's well-traveled, not me."

Katherine shakes her head.

"You're here because you want to disappear, that's how half of the population of this city got here. The difference between you and them is that the rest of them are trying to become somebody new, a better version of themselves. You're not trying at all."

None of this even seems to touch Elena, and it infuriates Katherine.

"Why do you care?"

Katherine rolls her eyes.

"We're Petrovas, my face is your face is Tatia's face and so on into fucking infinity."

Elena raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.

Katherine rolls her eyes, flicks her hair and downs half of her glass.

"The point is, I can't have you moping around with my face, bringing down my reputation by doing absolutely nothing of note."

Elena mimics her, rolling her eyes, flicking her hair exactly like Katherine and leans forward on the bar.

"I don't give a fuck about your reputation."

Katherine sneers.

"What would your friends say now?"

With a chef's finesse, Katherine salts the wounds.

Elena snarls, genuine emotion – genuine rage – rushing to the surface for the first time in too long.

"They are not my friends."

Katherine leans back, staring at her in disbelief.

"Seriously? You're still mad about that? I thought this was about Alaric. Get over it, Bonnie saved your life."

Elena glares at her, anything to avoid thinking about Alaric. Some wounds don't heal.

"I never asked for it. I was ready to die. I was done. They were selfish. None of them cared what I wanted."

Katherine shrugs.

"So? It's already done. If you want to be dead so badly, take a dip into the harbor. The sewage alone will do you in."

Elena rolls her eyes.

"Seriously? That's your advice? Kill myself?"

Katherine lifts one shoulder delicately.

"Or get over it," she suggests.

"Isn't that a song?" Elena can't help being snarky.

Katherine is unaffected by her sass. "Probably. My point still stands. Do something with your life, for god's sake." She shrugs. "Or end it, I really don't care."

Elena cocks her head to the side and smiles, slow and mean.

"You really came all the way here to tell me to my face that you don't care?" Elena leans forward on her elbows, speaking low and quiet. "How long have you been waiting for him to leave so you can have your turn at stalking me?" Elena gives her a knowing look. "You don't care about me at all but you risked his wrath just to tell me to suck it up and get on with my life?"

Katherine shrugs, playing it off. "Like I said, you're wearing my face."

Elena mirrors her tone. "Like I said, I don't care." She smiles again, all false sweetness. "But you do."

Katherine rolls her eyes, annoyed.

"God, you're dramatic. You should try for Broadway." With that, she drains her glass, tosses a hundred dollar bill on the bar and leaves.

"Keep the change, Elena," Elena says to herself. "It was nice seeing you too, Katherine."

She smiles tightly at her co-workers who are all trying to pretend they weren't watching their entire exchange. So she has a twin sister now, big deal.

* * *

Elena does go to the harbor. That is, she takes the ferry to Ellis Island, to visit Lady Liberty. Really, she should thank Katherine for reminding her that she hasn't visited the lady yet.

The harbor itself doesn't interest her. She could never explain to Katherine – or anyone really – it's never been about dying. It's about peace. She knows a trip in the harbor will not give her what she needs.

She'd died for other people, saved her friends, her family, her entire world. At the end of those fights, she could rest, as selfishly as she'd known she could not live without them, she had still chosen to die for other people. Peace was all she wanted, after so much loss and trauma. She only wants to be reunited with all those she has lost.

The harbor won't give her that. She can't say how she knows that, but she knows it in her bones, like she knows how to stick a knife into her own flesh to get what she wants. How she knows Tatia's pain in her DNA and how to mimic Katherine's mannerisms effortlessly.

She meets the Lady, gets to see things from her perspective, and reflects on the fact that maybe Katherine is right.

Blessed with stunning looks, – unmatched by all – an uncanny ability to think on her feet, – improvisation – and an innate ability to convey emotion with such conviction that the sheer force of her feelings can bring people to their knees; Elena has always had all the makings of a great actor, particularly onstage.

* * *

She goes to a matinee of _Phantom of the Opera_. It's not the first show she's seen since she came to the city. Inundated with all of the culture that saturates this city, she's seen most of the big shows of the moment. This is the first show that she goes to in order to learn.

She studies the actress playing the lead role. The eighties curls that are most certainly a wig. Elena's own hair, in its natural state, looks like what the girl onstage endures the itchy, hot wig for.

She's not prettier than Elena, it's not vanity when it's the ruling factor of her life. Everyone obsessed with the face that hardly seems to belong to her. Isn't that fame? Ceasing to belong to yourself?

For the time being, she doesn't consider her voice, she's not certain she wants to do musicals, anyway. She's never been particularly insecure about her voice either.

She's always enjoyed dancing, and years of dance and cheerleading have elevated Elena's natural grace to something to take pride in.

Her acting is good, but somehow Elena knows she is better. Hasn't she been orphaned, pulled in many different directions, used as a puppet?

Nearing the end of the play, Elena is on the edge of her seat, yearning, almost, to slip out of herself and onto the stage, into the skin of soprano ingénue, Christine Daaé.

The overture fills the theater; no one hears Elena's voice underneath it.

"I could do that."

* * *

It takes her very little time to decide she wants to do that, maybe she decided it the second the house lights went down. It's not like she's never been onstage before, the very nature of who she is guaranteed her the lead role in the school play every year until the death of her parents had put an end to her extracurriculars.

It had been fun back then, playacting at tragedy and romance, now she knew both with more intimacy than she'd like. If it was fun then, it's an obsession now.

She leaves the theatre with a sense of purpose she has lacked since the last time it was necessary for her to die to save others.

It suits her sensibilities to look up talent agents in the yellow pages at the New York Public Library. She knows she's being reckless, jabs her finger down onto a name at random, but she trusts her gut, it's never failed her before.

Janey Kemp has a clean office downtown. She takes one look at Elena's face and cancels her next three meetings. She can't be older than thirty, petite, with naturally white blonde hair in a neat updo and eyes of acid green, but she acts like a sixty year old man with a serious nicotine addiction. Her knee bounces, she looks at Elena like she's the answer to a question she'd never thought to ask.

"That's a hell of a face you've got there, girl." Her voice is helium high, making up for it with a clipped tone.

Elena cocks her head to the side, smiles to devastating effect. "You have no idea."

"Well shit, give me a scene." Janey grins at her, her expression predatory before Elena even opens her mouth.

What comes out of her mouth is instinctual, four years since she stood onstage, fifteen and innocent, playing out the final scene of literature's most tragic lovers. Juliet leaves her lips like it's written for her alone.

"…_O happy dagger! This is thy sheath; there rust, and let me die." _No props at hand, Elena still raises her hands, angling her invisible dagger with expertise. She's played this scene before; she brought the house down.

"Juliet has been waiting for you, and so have I." There isn't an ounce of humor in her voice. "Where have you been all my life?" Janey asks, still perfectly serious.

Elena drops her hands from her chest, smiles.

"Virginia."

Janey nods. "Southern girl, nice."

She hops off her desk, coming over to circle Elena like a tiny vulture. She's a good six inches shorter than Elena, even in her skyscraper heels; it's almost comical.

"You can act, you have probably the most timelessly beautiful face I've ever seen, can you sing?

Elena shrugs. "Yes, but I'm not really interested in musicals."

Janey nods. "Can you dance?"

"I was a cheerleader in high school."

Janey tries not to look too thrilled. "Interesting, well, I'll definitely sign you, and we can revisit the topic of musicals later. I have a couple of auditions in mind for you already. What should I call you?"  
"Elena." She pauses, smiles, slow and mischievous. "Pierce." It's her homage to Katherine. The closest she'll ever get to saying thank you for giving her this; something to hold on to. "Elena Piece."

Janey claps her hands together, and Elena can't help but feel like she's barely resisting the urge to rub her hands together like a greedy villain in an old morality play.

"That's a hell of a name."

Elena shrugs one shoulder delicately.

"Well, Elena Pierce, there's gonna be a shitload of paperwork, so you should probably get a lawyer, although to be frank I'd probably sell my soul to you if that's what it took to be your rep, but semantics. I can recommend a good one so you don't feel like we're screwing you. I'll have my assistant Colton gather it all together for you."

Elena shakes her head.

"Somehow, I don't think I'll need it."

She doesn't. There's a business card in her mailbox the next morning.

* * *

After a few auditions where the casting directors are far more interested in her than she is in them, she lands an audition for _Hamlet_. She wants the part of Ophelia with a level of intensity that would scare her if it isn't the only thing in this world she has to hold onto.

She knows she's an outsider, she's not going to wear long skirts and red lipstick and recite a pick from 100-classic-monolgues-for-women like every other wannabe Drama Queen.

_Jabberwocky _slithers off her tongue like she finds sense in the nonsense.

"_He took his vorpal sword in hand; /Long time the manxome foe he sought— /So rested he by the Tumtum tree /And stood awhile in thought."_

When she's done the casting panel stares at her so long that for the first time in while she wonders who they see standing in front of them.

A steel-haired man clears his throat at last.

"Um, Ophelia's part calls for singing, would you mind giving us a few bars?"

She nods, prepared for this.

"_Oh Mother, I'm scared to die, where, where do my good deeds lie? Oh Father, I'm scared to live, takes more than I've got to give."_

She breathes through the lyrics like they don't make her remember drowning—twice.

"_Oh sister, my voice is weak. Oh brother, I long for sleep. Oh hunger, I know you well. My cruel friend is a funeral bell."_

She's surprised that no one has stopped her yet, but she doesn't let it show; just keeps going.

"_And it rings in the day and it rings in the evening. Oh, I could pray but it won't stop you leaving. Shadow in black, you are grim from your reaping. Oh, can't you spare just a day for the weeping?"_

She stops there, understanding that none of them will stop her. There is a poignant silence.

Finally one of them remembers to thank her, allowing her to leave the stage. She tries not to think about how badly she wants the role. Instead she heads to the New York Public Library.

Janey calls her a few hours later while she's still at the library. She mouths an apology at her favorite librarian as she leaves for the front entrance hall.

"Did you seriously recite the _Jabberwocky _poem from _Alice in Wonderland_?"

Elena sighs at her dramatic tone.

"Yes, yes I did. Is there a problem with that?"

Janey ignores the question, asking her own instead.

"And you sang some indie song?"

"Yeah, 'Funeral Bell'," Elena says. "By Phildel. It seemed appropriate for Ophelia's character." She pauses, then asks again. "Is there a problem?"

Janey is silent for a bit.

"No, not really. I have to go." With that she hangs up.

Elena stares at her phone, then shrugs. There's nothing she can do about it now. She goes back into the reading room, _The Complete Works of William Shakespeare _still open on the table where she left it. There's a fresh cup of coffee from her favorite café next to it.

"Because that's not creepy at all," she murmurs under her breath, and she swears she hears him laugh from somewhere in the stacks. Just in case, she adds a soft, "Thank you."

* * *

Janey calls her back a few days later.

"Well, your methods are unorthodox, but they love you. Also apparently you can sing, and have the most haunting voice they've ever heard, so thanks for telling me, your agent, all about it."

Elena ignores everything she just said, focusing just the first part.

"They love me?" She asks.

She can practically hear Janey rolling her eyes.

"Yes, they love you, you're Ophelia, congratulations, you're finally accepting a role." She emphasizes 'accepting' since Elena has gotten every role she's auditioned for, which is unheard of in this business.

It makes Janey wonder exactly who the hell she just took on as a client. Not that she's upset. Who wouldn't want a client who can pick and choose her roles right out of the gate?

Elena smiles, not that Janey can see it.

"Thank you."

Janey scoffs. "You don't even need me. Two weeks ago you didn't even have headshots, so of course the photographer I take you to offers to do them for free in exchange for you modeling for him. And of course you get every role you audition for. I feel like I'm useless here." When she adds, "What am I to you?" It doesn't sound as much like a joke as it was supposed to.

Elena laughs.

"I like having an agent," she says, reassuring her easily. "Two weeks ago, I didn't even know I needed headshots. And now I have a side gig as an artist's model, which means I can finally afford my apartment without worrying about running through my savings by the end of the year."

Janey huffs, but is secretly glad.

"Well, you're going to have to tell that dive bar you work at that you need to change your schedule because you're going to need way more sleep than you're currently getting. Also you're gonna wanna go out less."

They've had enough working lunches together for Janey to know all about Elena's minimalist sleeping habits and maximalist partying habit. Never mind that Elena hardly drinks, Janey doesn't believe her anyway.

"Congratulations Virginia, I'll have Colton call you later with your rehearsal schedule."

* * *

Clark happily lets her rearrange her schedule, thrilled that the girl he has taken under his wing is finally branching out.

He grins at her. "Can't wait to tell everyone I knew you when."

She smiles back at him, warmed by his fatherly affection.

The director is the steel-haired man who'd had the sense to ask her to sing at her audition, which is promising. She finds herself reluctantly befriending her castmates, even a few crew members, after spending so much uninterrupted time with them. She's the baby of the group, five years younger than her closest castmate, and that seems to make them all think that she needs looking out for. It's strangely nice, after fending for herself for so long.

The actress who plays Gertrude is a stage veteran who immediately takes to mothering Elena. She takes her out to lunch and on shopping trips and gives her invaluable advice, mostly about show business, but sometimes just good life advice in general.

Hamlet has a Cheshire grin that lights up every room, shining out of his dark face like the sun. He only ever calls her Ophelia or My Lady, kissing her on her hand like an old-fashioned fool of a gentleman.

Hamlet, Laertes, and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern make themselves at home in Clark's, planning their visits to when Elena is working, and making pests of themselves from the beginning to the end of her shift when they follow her to whatever club she's in the mood to dance at.

Laertes likes to daydream about the handsome law student Elena works with, and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are the only subtext, happily together for nearly six years. They follow her around like devoted puppies because they genuinely like her, not because they're yet another victim of the Petrova allure. She likes them too, surprising herself.

Even Polonius is a dear. A fellow literati, he recommends good books to help her with her tone, inviting her to the Voice & Theatre class he teaches. She goes and is surprised at how much it improves her projection.

She knows she's the one secluded herself, after the second accident, but the truth is, even before then she was isolated. Everyone wanted to blame her for their problems or keep her safe. No one wanted to look at her and see how lonely and isolated she was. In a way, pushing everyone away had been a way of taking back control. At least she'd been alone because it was what she wanted.

Now, she finds that she likes being with these people. Despite everything, she still has room in her heart.

* * *

Gregory, their director, likes visuals to go with his monologues. Act IV, scene 7 is staged with Ophelia drowning as Gertrude narrates. Elena knows more about drowning than she could ever tell.

It's her favorite scene to rehearse. Maybe even more than the next scene, Ophelia's burial.

* * *

It's not that she has no one to invite to her opening night; she just has so few people she actually wants to be there.

Her first thought is Katherine, but given his ever-present shadow lurking just out of sight, Elena thinks twice about actually sending her one.

Jeremy is incensed when, during their weekly phone, she insists that he's not coming for opening night.

"Elena, c'mon–" She cuts him off.

"Your winter break doesn't start for another two weeks after, you can come then."

He sighs. "Just for the show?"

She squirms. "No, for your whole break, if you want."

He's silent, then quietly, hopefully, "Really?"

She swallows around the lump in her throat.

"Yeah, of course, I have a really comfortable couch, I promise. I'll still be working at Clark's between shows, but I'm sure you can find something to entertain yourself with, this city's big enough."

She can practically hear him grinning through the fun.

"Great, awesome, I can't wait to see you up onstage and everything." Then, a heartfelt afterthought. "In general, I can't wait to see you."

She nods, barely managing to get her voice under control enough to say, "Same."

He babbles on happily, now that he knows he will see her soon. "So I've been looking at colleges, like you said, and there are some really cool art schools in New York."

She laughs, flinches at how much it sounds like a sob. Swiping at the tears that have managed to escape, she puts on her best big sister voice.

"You goof, you can't pick school in New York just because I'm here." She sounds more fond than scolding, but she keeps going anyway. "What about San Francisco?"

Jeremy scoffs.

"Everyone knows New York is the best place for aspiring artists. It's not just because you're there," he says. The implication is clear though, it's a bonus.

She sniffs, trying to sound like it isn't the only thing she wants in this world.

"You have to apply to other places too, promise?"

He laughs.

"Sure, I can do that. Hey, what about RISD? Or is that too close to New York for whatever guilt trip you're on?"

She rolls her eyes.

"Rhode Island's fine."

* * *

After Jeremy there's only two people left to invite.

At her next shift, she presents Clark with a ticket for opening night, somewhat shyly. He grins at her.

"I was wondering if I'd have to buy my own ticket. _Hamlet_'s always been my favorite."

She beams at him, slightly embarrassed by how thrilled she is that he's coming, that he wants to come.

"Great," she says, unable to stop smiling.

With that settled, there is only one invite left. She has Elijah's number in her phone still, one of the few survivors of the purge, but somehow a phone call doesn't feel right. She settles for sending him an invitation in the mail. She's yet to be called to New Orleans by his brother, but she does have the address.

It feels right, inviting Elijah, when he is the one who inspired her to come to this city in the first place. For all she knows, he might have a story or two about Shakespeare himself to share that she wouldn't mind hearing.

* * *

Opening night creeps up on her much quicker than she anticipates. Butterflies are barely contained by her ribcage. She has an early dinner with Clark, who has dusted off an old sports coat for the occasion and treats her like his most beloved daughter, proudly telling their server that she's a Broadway actress.

Clark tells her to break a leg and then she is off to the theater.

Hamlet is full of so much energy, her butterflies burst out of their cage in her chest and rush up into her head until the two of them are grinning at each other like fools.

The Stage Manager scolds them for their giddiness, sending Elena off for her costume and Hamlet out the door to walk off some of his excess energy.

She knows Janey and Clark are in the audience, and it warms her to know they care. Elijah never responded to her invitation, but she isn't worried, despite suspicions lurking at the back of her mind.

Time passes strangely, entire hours passing in what feels like seconds, and then the hush of as the light goes down – lasting into infinity.

The second Elena steps onto stage, into the spotlight, she is home. Her mind goes blissfully quiet, Elena slips out the back door and Ophelia settles into her skin like she's the only girl to ever wear this face.

She has them, from the very moment she steps onto the stage, the audience is hers. They love her, they weep for her, their poor mad girl. She loves them too, loves them like she can't remember loving anyone.

The hum of what is supposed to happen being terrifyingly divided by what could happen is the purest kind of adrenaline she's ever tasted. She knows all about real fear, real threat, this fear is so pure she could live off of it alone, no need for any other kind of nourishment.

_"O, woe is me, /T' have seen what I have seen, see what I see!"_

Eyes track her across the stage, and she does not flinch; she revels.

* * *

Gertrude is reporting the horror of Ophelia's death.

Elena flails with such grace, such accuracy, the audience shivers. She feels it down into her spine, the moment she hits the stage. It's more poetry than death.

Above all, she feels his eyes on her. She could pick him out from the crowd, even now, sprawled on the stage, eyes closed, she knows exactly where he is. She feels him everywhere: in her ribcage, her heart, gone too quiet to beat, in her head, silent like church on Monday, in her stomach, hollow and devoid of butterflies, and in the column of her throat, brushing against faded scars, cold as ice.

She's never felt more alive; playing dead with his eyes on her.

* * *

Ophelia, sheathed in flowers, blanketed in them, so uncannily still, enough for unease to creep into the audience's hearts, even as they weep for her.

There is something so quiet, so holy, about the stillness it takes to play dead on a stage. Her mind goes so quiet, it's almost real. This moment is endless; she never wants it to end. To say she wants to live in it would be sacrilegious, almost, because it is death, not life.

* * *

Elena watches the rest of the play from the wings, sitting on a discarded box, her knees drawn up to her chest as she watches Hamlet's final moments.

She feels better than she has in years, cleansed almost.

The second the curtains close, Elena is on the stage, tackling Hamlet full force, her skirts weighing them both down, flowers flying from her hair.

"You were magnificent!" he whispers directly into her ear.

Her only response is to hug him harder, she can't speak, not yet.

It's a few brief moments of chaos as everyone joins them onstage and they're separated somewhat reluctantly so Elena can join Gertrude off to the side and Hamlet can take the center.

When the curtains raise, there is a wall of applause. The stage lights are so bright that Elena sees nothing but vague outlines in the distance. Everyone takes their bows, and when Elena's little group moves forward, the audience surges to their feet. The applause becomes thunderous, deafening.

Tears stream down her face, streaking her makeup even as she beams uncontrollably. She can feel her castmates receding to allow her moment but she knows she will fall if someone isn't there to hold her up, so she grasps Gertrude's wrist, pulling her back. Gertrude is beside her for only a moment when Hamlet takes her place. He beams down at her, easily bearing her weight as he mouths his pride.

The applause – just for her – continues on for what feels like forever before she is allowed to step back, allowing others to take their bows. No one seems to begrudge her that moment, they are all thrilled for her.

Hamlet's applause is almost as loud as her own.

For a moment, she sees past the stage lights, his golden hair, exactly where she'd thought he was, and then the curtains are closing and she is being pulled into Laertes' embrace.

She shakes off her shiver, wrapping her arms around her stage brother's neck, beaming up at him with genuine joy.

* * *

She ducks into her dressing room to get away from the chaos backstage in order to catch her breath. It's overflowing with flowers, the perfume overwhelming in a way that makes her beam, adding to her dizziness.

There are dozens of red roses, all from Hamlet. A bouquet of sunflowers from Clark, orchids from Janey, and a bouquet of sweet and simple white daisies from Jeremy, the only one who knows what flowers are her favorite.

There are white roses from Katherine, and it almost makes her laugh, because she understands the symbolism instantly. Roses for their shared birth month, June, and white as the symbolism of purity, a pun on Katherine's name.

"_At least you did something with my name." _Is the only accompaniment, but it speaks volumes, the possessive underlined twice. It's their own version of affection.

In the midst of them all, there are lilies. Perfect, white, funeral lilies. Not a single one is flawed, each one perfectly bloomed, chosen and arranged by an artistic eye.

She's known all along, that he's here. The lilies still take her breath away.

She is not surprised, when she turns, to find him standing in the doorway.

He smiles at her, his mouth red as ever.

"Brava, darling." He steps into the room, closing the door behind him, shutting out the cacophony backstage.

He's been hiding out in her peripheral for so long, it's almost a shock to see him face to face, as much as she knew he would be here.

She means to greet him, but the suspicion at the back of her mind rushes forward.

"Did you steal Elijah's invitation?"

Klaus laughs, almost startled by her question.

Still, he admits it freely. "Yes, well, I was rather insulted you didn't send one for me."

She shrugs.

"I knew you'd come," she says this easily.

He smiles, pleased.

He waves his hands over to his bouquet.

"Did you like the flowers?"

She shrugs carelessly.

"They're not my favorite."

He counters. "I don't know your favorite flowers, darling."

She nods, but doesn't offer it up. If anyone is going to send her daisies, it will be her brother.

When she doesn't say anything else, Klaus returns to his original reason for being there.

"You were sublime, I hadn't any idea you could act so well."

She shrugs.

"I used to act in school plays, for fun, mostly. I stopped after." She doesn't need to tell him after what. He might be a catastrophe in her life, but he was not the first.

Before he can reply someone – or rather, several someones – start playing the drums on her door.

"Darling Ophelia, come out and play with your boys!" Hamlet practically sings.

Elena starts giggling, unaware of how her joy makes her sparkle.

"I'm naked, go away," she calls back to them, fully dressed.

They howl in response, demanding she hurry up so they can leave for the cast party.

She shrugs at Klaus.

"They're idiots," she says with affection.

He nods.

"I suppose I should leave you to change, then." He moves back towards the door.

"That's probably a good idea." She cocks her head to the side, considering him. Her voice stops him in the doorway. "Thank you for coming, and for the flowers."

He smiles back at her, and then he's gone.

She turns towards the mirror, catching a glimpse of herself, ruined makeup and all. She smiles, as much as a mess she looks, she also looks undeniably happy, and that's something.

She raises her arms over her head, poised like a ballerina rising, then drops them behind her head to free herself of her costume. She ignores the way her skin seems alight, like sparkles set alight inside her nerve-endings.

* * *

Their production of _Hamlet _receives rave reviews. Every single critic and blogger takes a good portion of their reviews to gush over newcomer, Elena Pierce, and her gut-wrenching and enthralling performance as Ophelia. Never has the mad girl been more loved.

She goes to the airport herself to pick Jeremy up at the start of his break. They spend a few blissful weeks running around the city like the children they are.

Despite her assurance that he is free to roam the city while she's working, he goes to every performance. Clark even allows him to hang out in the bar with strict instructions that no one forgets his underage status.

When they say goodbye only a few days after New Year's, Elena is reluctant to let him out of her embrace. She only lets him go when he reminds her that he still has a semester left of school.

He's applied to two schools in the city, not that he's told her yet. He's applied to other schools, like he promised, but he knows this is where he wants to be, with his sister.

The play approaches its ending and Janey starts talking about auditions again.

"I know a Shakespearian director who would kill to have you as his Helena."

Elena gives her a scathing look, despite knowing that Janey has no idea what she's said wrong.

"I'm not doing comedies," she says flatly.

Janey's eyebrows raise. "Shakespearian comedies are perfectly respectable."

Elena shakes her head, her mind already made up.

"Tragedies, I'll only do tragedies."

Janey wants to argue, but something about the look on Elena's face stops her.

She nods slowly. "Okay, well, Gregory's wife also directs, she's doing a production of _Romeo + Juliet _in the spring, and auditions will start soon."

A slow smile spreads across Elena's face.

She nods. "Sounds perfect, sign me up."

When she gets home, there's a bouquet of red roses waiting for her, and a beautifully worded apology from Elijah for missing her stage debut. He signs off with a promise to be there next time.

* * *

She comes home from a shift at the bar one night to find a beautiful copy of _The Complete Works of William Shakespeare _on her bed. She doesn't need to look at the inscription to know who it is from.

_"What would you do if someone checked out the library's copy?" -K_

* * *

Rehearsals for _Romeo + Juliet _start, and the first day she is thrilled to find her Hamlet is in the cast as well.

He comes over, Cheshire grin in place, and sweeps her off her feet.

"I knew you'd be Juliet," he proclaims loudly, without bothering to disguise it as a question.

She laughs as he spins her around and then sets her on her feet, still beaming.

"Thanks," she says. "What about you?" She asks.

"Tybalt, dear cousin," He replies, kissing her knuckles.

"Great." She grins at him. "You know, you were so insistent that I call you Hamlet I think I forgot to ask for your real name."

He laughs. "I do that." He bows again. "Maverick Hartman, at your service, dear Miss Pierce."

She laughs then, because of how perfectly over-the-top his name is.

"Is that your real name?"

He nods enthusiastically.

"Makes sense," she says. "Do you know who my Romeo is?" she asks.

He nods.

"Oh yes, a lovely little romantic fool, only a half a dozen roles to his name, he might as well be Romeo reborn."

He tugs her across the stage to meet the starry-eyed actor. He's only a few years older than Elena, and she can already see that he's as much of a romantic as Maverick said.

Maverick introduces him, but Elena already knows she's only ever going to call him Romeo; with his soulful dark eyes and sloppy brown curls, he is as much Romeo as she is Juliet.

"This is your Juliet, Elena Pierce, it's only her second role and your sixth so you'll be perfectly matched."

Elena smiles at him.

He smiles back at her.

"You know, I just finished a production of _The Tempest, _you'd make a perfect Miranda."

He has no idea, but he's hit on a particularly sore spot. She meant it when she said she would only do tragedies, but something in her aches knowing she will never play her mother's namesake.

Still, she knows in her bones, she is no Miranda.

Elena shakes her head. "I'm more interested in tragedies."

He looks taken aback, but Maverick barely flinches.

"Well, you'd make a sublime Desdemona."

Elena smiles at that. "Hopefully to your Othello," she says, returning the compliment.

He nods. "Oh, without question."

He drags her off then to reunite with their Laertes, now Benvolio.

* * *

She comes home from rehearsals one day to find Klaus waiting in the hallway.

"Did you get my present?" he asks.

She cocks her head to the side.

"You don't have an invitation," she says by way of answering.

He nods. "I may have had your landlord do it for me."

She shakes her head, moving past him to open the door. She leaves him in the hallway in order to dump her stuff and find her comfy shoes for her shift at the bar.

She absentmindedly calls out.

"You can come in, Klaus," issuing the only invitation that matters. It doesn't bother her to invite him in.

In an instant he's outside her bedroom door as she laces up her shoes.

She looks up at him. "Was there something else?" she asks. She has some time before her shift, but she'd like to eat and relax, not verbally spar.

"You know, it occurred to me." He pauses.

She looks up at him.

"Our lack of a friendly relationship is actually built off of a misconception."

She raises an eyebrow. "Oh really?" she asks.

He nods. "Yes, you see, I approached who I thought was you for a truce at Homecoming."

Elena nods in comprehension. "I didn't go to Homecoming."

"Precisely. Katherine is the one who informed me that you didn't like me. At the time, there was so much going on that it was only upon recent reflection that I realized it wasn't you."

She sits up straight, studying him. It's clear he's waiting for her verdict.

"I don't dislike you," she says at last, and it's true. It's not like she hates him, she's far past that. Besides, he's the only person who's ever given her what she wants.

He smiles. "So, friends?"

She nods slowly. "Sure, we can be friends."

He looks far too satisfied.

"Shall we do something to cement this occasion, then?"

She considers this, shrugs. "I need to eat before work, so why not."

He takes her to a café that's only a few blocks from her work, carelessly giving away exactly how extensively he's been stalking her. It's not like it's a secret, exactly. She'd expected it even before she first felt his eyes on her.

"What about your _Hamlet _co-star?" he asks abruptly.

She stares at him blankly from across the table.

"Which one?" she asks, unsure of where he's going.

"Hamlet, of course."

She nods in comprehension.

"Maverick, he's great," she says, unsure of where he's going. For good measure, she adds, "He's fun to work with."

Klaus nods in fascination.

"And is that all it is, work?" he asks.

Finally understanding what he's been hinting, she rolls her eyes.

"We're friends, he's more like a big brother than anything else." And it's true, he's nearly a decade older than her and he clearly sees her as his beloved little sister to be looked after.

He nods, clearly pleased.

"And your co-worker?"

She cocks her head to the side.

"Which one?" she asks.

She knows where he's going with it, this time. He's always been far too invested in her personal relationships, she shouldn't be surprised.

"The handsome law student," he says, amused at the need for clarification.

She wrinkles her nose.

"I don't really know him," she freely admits. "Sean seems nice."

Klaus laughs then.

"His name is Seth."

She shrugs, unabashed. "Like I said, I don't really know him."

"I can see that." He sounds amused, but it's clear he's pleased.

She leans forward.

"Why do you care so much?"

They both know why, but she'd like to establish her boundaries early.

He plays it off. "We're friends now, darling," he says, reminding her. "Isn't this what friends do?"

She smirks at him, unimpressed, but she nods.

"Sure, it's what friends do." She takes a sip of her drink now. "And we're such good friends, now."

He smiles at that.

She cocks her head to the side.

"You know you spend an awful lot of time in the city for someone who supposedly lives across the country."

He waves a hand carelessly.

"I've taken a liking to this city." He smirks. "Besides I had to make sure my girl was well looked after."

She nods, well aware of his possessive attention by now.

"I'm fine," and for once she means it. "I don't need a chaperone." They both know that's not what it's about.

He doesn't disagree. "I know, but nonetheless, I think I'll stick around for a while."

**AN: I don't know anything about the audition process or stage work nor do I claim to, I'm just a writer who took some artistic liberties. I hope everyone enjoyed! Questions? Thoughts? Please leave a review!**

**xoxo**

**-Pixie**


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